


Free

by whiplashcrash



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: BIRD YOU'RE AMAZING ily!, Lasana by Anath_tsurugi, M/M, Some small fluff for good hearted humans, an apology fic in form of fluff I suppose, born of a wonderful feedback loop with one Bird, enjoy some lasat kisses, human kisses on the mouth, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25721125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplashcrash/pseuds/whiplashcrash
Summary: Zeb is watching Kallus closely. He's a little stuck, but maybe that's not so bad after all.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 21
Kudos: 79





	Free

**Author's Note:**

> please enjoy apologies for angst in WIP fics!
> 
> an idea I had to try and find an alternate take on Liberation of Lothal Kalluzeb shenanigans, and to actually write something in canonverse for once, wow.
> 
> Happy whatever day it is because I don't know lol

Zeb has a bad habit of imagining things.

He imagines cities of Lasats; maybe on Lasan, but more likely on Lira San if you have to try to rationalize daydreaming. He imagines roaming the streets, hand in hand with the man that he loves.

_Hand in hand with Kallus._

The forbidden thought is shaken off as surely as the feeling of Kallus’s warmth through his fur and the crisp black Imperial uniform. Which is to say, not at all.

As soon as Kallus is helping Zeb ease onto the somewhat comfortable, not yet crowded, gunship, Zeb cannot focus on anything besides the feeling of five fingers pressing into his arm, and a steadying grip below his shoulder. Firm, but not unyielding, Kallus offers help Zeb can reject at any moment, and lean on without hesitation, Zeb knows he does not need the help, and yet, _and yet,_ he cannot resist the temptation.

Zeb lets Kallus help him, if only for the practically tortuous teasing touch through Kallus’s clothing, and nothing else as his reward.

Soon enough, both gunships are loaded and the Rebels are on their way to Capital City, with Zeb wishing Kallus, at the very least, hadn’t been wearing the gloves if not for a number of other things.

The cuffs are tight, and not made for a Lasat, but Zeb knows this is the point. He is going to “escape,” going to draw attention away from the others and take out as many buckethead with him as he can before things get out of control. Despite being stuck in an Imperial gunship and in Imperial cuffs and with his ex-Imperial whatever-Kallus-is-because-who-even-knows-anymore, Zeb isn’t entirely stuck.

His ears are free.

Because yes, there are binders on his wrists and his body is trapped in a gunship not designed for Lasats, even smaller ones, but Zeb can’t help but relish in the feeling of his free flopping ears in the wind as the gunships roar over the grassy plains leading to Capital City.

The clouds misting in his eyes are gone as soon as they fly above them, and Zeb wishes for a moment the sun was setting, so he could stare at the man in front of him without it being so obvious. He stares anyways.

Although Kallus is on alert, (because when is he not, really?) he looks peaceful. Far away from the ground, with an Imperial helmet tucked under one arm and his free hand on his blaster’s holster, Zeb decides he looks at ease. Perhaps a little uncomfortable with the idea of an Imperial tight collar around his throat once again, but Kallus is in his element, prepared and focused on the mission at hand.

So, it only stands to reason that when Kallus turns and drops the helmet in favor of releasing Zeb’s cuffs, Zeb is put off. “What’re you doing, Kal?”

“Stop me if you want to. If you don’t want this.”

“Stop you from what?”

Kallus answers by clutching Zeb’s sideburns and kissing him.

 _Oh._ The human thing, the thing Kanan and Hera did.

The thing Kallus is doing, and it looks like Zeb is doing, too.

Kallus lets Zeb breathe for a second, and the only words that tumble out of his mouth are: “What if I don’t want to stop you. What do I do then?”

“Hold me.”

So, Zeb does, claws straying from soft skin and dancing over freckles until somehow Kallus’s softer-than-he-thought-possible hair is overtop of Zeb’s fingers and his scalp, in need of a good scratching, Zeb learns, is beneath restless claws.

Kallus kisses him again.

When Kallus breaks away, only when either of them can’t breathe, he doesn’t do the other thing, the second one Kanan and Hera did, where three words fall from his lips in basic, or pull away gently.

Kallus surprises him again. “You can stop me, if this is wrong, or if you don’t want me to do this.”

“Nothing about this is wrong, Kallus,” Zeb says. He doesn’t stop to think about his answer until after Kallus hears it, which is before Zeb realizes what he’s said, but it doesn’t take much thought for him to realize that he’s right. This isn’t wrong at all; it’s perfect.

Zeb tries to kiss Kallus again; he doesn’t know how this works but damned if he isn’t going to figure it out _with_ Kallus. But he’s not good at hiding his surprise when Kallus shakes his head and pulls back to cover those Lasat lips with his black Imperial glove.

“Not this,” Kallus says, as if he explains everything with those two simple words. Zeb doesn’t think he does, but he trusts Kallus implicitly, as if the new human kisses weren’t enough of an indication of that much.

“Alright, then what?”

Kallus blushes. All the way down to his ears, dark red and some of his freckles are indiscernible from the rest of his skin, but all Zeb can see are his eyes, big soft and brown, and caught in between the warning sides of Kallus’s mind. It’s a look Zeb sees all the time, and he always does his best to snap Kallus out of it. This time is no different; because even though Kallus’s lips are struggling to form the words, Zeb offers what few he can. 

“Kallus,” he says, gently. “You can tell me.”

“I-,” Kallus’s shoulders shake with a half-pained silent laugh. “You’ll think me mad.”

“Try me. I can be pretty mad myself, you know.”

So, maybe Kallus is right; maybe it is crazy, but Zeb doesn’t know that until later, until his jaw dropped and he’s staring like a moron at Kallus, because as soon as Kallus opens his mouth again, he sounds every bit like Kal, Coruscanti and kind and still speaking in the same controlled composed tone, but he isn’t speaking any language Zeb’s ever heard from him before.

“ _L’ashkerrir an_ , Garazeb,” Kallus says after much hesitation, and he can’t take the words back, can’t keep himself from freaking out that he’s confessed he loves this man _in another language._ _His_ language, to be more specific. And yet, Kallus doesn’t seem to want to. He digs in and stands his ground, and nods one more time.

There is no doubt in Zeb’s mind that Kallus knows what those words mean, nor that he’s said them in perfect Lasana, but Zeb also knows if he doesn’t respond, Kallus will clam up and throw up his walls. So, holding Kallus more dearly than perhaps anything in his life, Zeb nods once, leans in and brushes his beard against Kallus’s.

He knows Kallus knows what this means too, because the next time, on the opposite side, Kallus is ready and meets Zeb’s movements, mirroring them himself. 

Zeb allows his voice to drop to its lowest rumbling timbre and chuckles. “ _L’ashkerrir an_ , Alexsandr.”

Neither of them hear Sabine cheering with delight, or Ezra teasingly mocking his older brother as he says: get a room. 

They’re both free.

**Author's Note:**

> "L’ashkerrir an" is Lasana for "I love you," and the product of the brain of the wonderful Anath_Tsurugi, a real gem! if by some insane impossibility you haven't read their stuff? GO be free, READ IT!


End file.
